Your Rock, Forever
by lightblue-Nymphadora
Summary: Drabbles centered around Santana and Rachel's relationship. Pezberry; mentions of former Faberry.
1. Blame

**Blame**

They sat, arm in arm, watching Phantom of the Opera. Rachel caught Santana looking and smiled, before turning back to the play.

Santana kissed her cheek and faced forward as well. She let her mind wander freely, as they'd seen the show seven times already. She kissed Rachel's forehead as the younger girl leaned into her. Santana loved this cuddly version of Rachel—mostly because it had taken them two years to get to the point where the singer would even hold her hand. Santana blamed Quinn for that. She blamed Quinn for a lot of things, but leaving Rachel standing at the altar was the one unforgivable offense on the list. Santana had been the one to hold Rachel while she cried in the chapel's bathroom. She never wanted to see her princess cry like that again.

Which was why she hoped Rachel trusted her enough to accept the ring in her pocket….


	2. Ring

**Ring**

"Are you too cold yet?" Santana asked as they walked back from the play.

"No. You spiked my cocoa pretty heavily with rum, so I think warmth won't be an issue for a while," Rachel said, smiling.

Santana chuckled, and pulled her closer. "Want to take a little detour then?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Central Park," Santana said, nodding ahead of them.

"Lead on, Latin Ninja."

"Oh god, I'm never going to live that down…."

"Never ever," Rachel giggled.

Santana became more and more fidgety as they walked down the path light with Christmas lights.

"Is everything okay, San?" Rachel asked.

"Fine," Santana said, nodding. "I wanted to talk to you though. Ask you something, really."

"Yes?"

It didn't sound scared, or nervous, or anything. Just curious. Rachel trusted her. And in that moment, Santana felt that this might go better than expected. She took both of Rachel's hands and dropped to one knee.

"Probably looks familiar," she said, "but I hope it feels different." She took the ring out of her pocket and held it out. "You told me once that I made you feel safe. No matter where we were, or who we were with, I was constantly your rock. More than…anyone else." She'd teetered on the verge of saying "More than Quinn" but she really didn't want the blonde in her proposal. "I want to be that for…forever. Or at very least until you get sick of me." She stood and wiped a few tears away from Rachel's cheeks. "I know this is…a lot. But I love you. And if you want this to be the big kid version of a promise ring instead of an engagement ring, I'm cool with that too. I just want you to know that I'm on board for the long run. But I kind of hoped you'd be up for some wedding planning," she added with a smile. "Rachel Barbara Berry, will you— mmph!" she was cut off by Rachel's lips on hers. It was brief however, as they both heard raucous applause and pulled away. The Central Park Carolers and their audience had been watching apparently.

Rachel turned back to face Santana. "Please understand that their presence has nothing to do with my answer—I would have answered this way even if we'd been as alone as we thought we were. I will absolutely marry you, Santana."

Santana's grin was bright enough to power Vegas as she scooped Rachel up and spun her around.


	3. Regret

**Regret**

Quinn sat on the couch looking out at the waves for a long time. She had what she wanted. She was successful. She lived in a beautiful house on the coast of Maryland—just as she'd dreamed as a kid. She was free. Free from everyone's expectations but her own. Freedom had been good to her, too, these last three years. She lived in a sort of perfect bubble where nothing and no one could touch her.

One fucking piece of mail had shattered that bubble to pieces that afternoon.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of Santana Maribel Lopez and Rachel Barbara Berry. _


	4. Amends

**Amends**

The three of them knew what this was. Atonement for Quinn, closure for Rachel, revenge for Santana. Quinn sat quietly with their glee family the entire night. She watched as Rachel walked down the aisle, looking positively angelic in her white dress. She flinched, but refused to look away when the brides shared their first kiss. She plastered on the biggest smile she could muster and congratulated them in the reception line. She ate the vegan meal—some sort of squash with mint sauce—choking down every bite. She watched as the bouquet and garter were thrown, and clapped politely along with the rest of the crowd. She watched them climb into the limo, all happy smiles and kisses.

And she knew her presence there said one thing: _It should have been me. I'm sorry. _


End file.
